Dear Audrey

Last weekend and after some years, I leafed through my copy of "Audrey Hepburn Treasures" once more and rediscovered the one true hero of my childhood. I remember loving her most of all because of the elegance of her appearance and spirit, but last weekend I realized that while I admired dear Audrey for her chic little black dresses, singular beauty, and her years with UNICEF, she was my hero most of all because she looked like my mother.

The final days

While my days are lately filled with deadlines for work and the future, they are also filled with welcome quiet times with myself, beautiful books and flowers, and great food shared with even greater people. I try to shun every temptation to rush and breeze through the busyness of the month. A season in my life is coming to an end, after all, and while the final stretch is always the most arduous, I am ever so often reminded of why I stayed for so long and so I try to relish each moment. It will never come again. It will never come again.

Valentine weekend

If we are lucky, this is how we will remember Valentine's Day this year.

My thoughtful and kind Cholo surprised me with a new calligraphy pen and nibs.

My walk down this path in UP was lonely and despondent until the two elderly men walking behind me began conversing in French. How beautifully musical the French language is! How soothing its cadence and how elegant the sound!

The night was chilly when we finally sat down to dinner but we loved the cold and so we lingered.

This morning before Cholo picked me up for brunch, he brought me flowers, the ones I like. 

And then there was brunch with portobello mushrooms in tomato sauce and mozzarella and crab cake benedict and glasses of champagne.

And heavenly pizza and glasses of mimosa.

 There was the comforting quiet of a Sunday morning.

And french toast with peaches.

And more glasses of Bellini and mimosa.

But most of all, there was him-- and that, I learned this weekend, is all that matters.